Mindless Perversions of Love and Life
by uumiho
Summary: There were times when she couldn’t help but wonder why. /NejiTen, rated for Sexual Content/


**Mindless Perversions of Love and Life**

(this was so much better in my mind.)

_I got plans for us; nights in the scullery and days instead of me.  
I only know what to discuss. Oh, for anything but light.  
– The Riddle, Gigi D'Agostino_

* * *

She had not a clue how they had gotten there, to this point in time; from reporting the events of their mission, to taking a simple walk, and then to her room, her bed, half-naked and doing something they'd never before done in their lives. (Make no mistake, lack of experience did not mean they hadn't _thought_ about it many times before.)

Skin on skin, mouth to mouth. Nails bit, teeth clenched, bodies twitched. There seemed to be only oxygen enough for one of them, leaving both breathless and wild. His hands were on her hips, hers in his hair, both squeezing and clenching as they tried to rein control over themselves and failed spectacularly. It was less a love scene, more akin to a battleground than anything; clothes strewn about, covers rumpled, blood from old wounds and new wounds staining the bedsheets.

It was… slightly odd, despite the slew of new sensations running through her body. Pleasurable it was indeed, but it wasn't exactly what she had expected. With no personal practice, she relied on what she had heard and read to give her and idea of what this… what… sex would be like. Going into the situation she had been anticipating the bone-splitting pleasure that folk so often loved to tell about, but now she realized that, however fervent it was, this was nothing like how the stories had portrayed it to be.

The act in itself was intense and dizzying, yet she felt none of the desperation and extreme rapture generally associated with coitus. (In all truth, she could get the same magnitude of adrenaline rush from combat.) It wasn't mind-numbing, but it was… nice. _Yeah. "Nice."_

His lips trailed a hot line down the side of her throat, and she swallowed hard when they proceeded on to a place they both knew should have been undeniably receptive. She was very very surprised when she found that she could barely feel the touch, even with her nerve endings lit up like fire.

She noted and quickly accredited the lack of sensitivity to the fact that her body was still developing. A wry smile twisted her lips. Age was such an issue for ninja—most began sexual activity long before mental or physical maturity—some as young as twelve. There was no time for silly things like waiting for love and marriage. In their trade, if you waited too long you might just find yourself dead before experiencing life. (Or, rather, their make-shift, carbon-copy version of it.)

He seemed to be getting frustrated with her lack of response, and lifted his head to glance at her. Noticing her very out-of-place expression, he asked (somewhat irritably) if something was wrong. (It actually came out as more of a "_What.",_ but that was just him being himself.)

But she was as much herself as he was himself, and in lieu of answering, she leaned forward and kissed him. When he tried to push her away (he hated when she ignored him) she bit his lip. Ire increasing, he wormed a hand between them and pushed sharply on a pressure point, causing her to draw away with a short gasp. It was more discomfort than pain, but she glared at him anyways. Predictably, a second or two of glowering at each other and they were back at it as if they had never stopped.

The act wasn't tender or loving or gentle, but rough and almost impersonal in its lack of emotional connection. Flings with people like them often were; tenderness was not employed unless involved with a figure who required such soft treatment. They were not unversatile, after all.

But in their line of work, feeling could not be spared. There was no room for the sweet, bubblegum romanticism of fantasies. If you wanted to stay alive—if you wanted to stay _sane_—you learned to distance yourself, learned not to feel. You forced yourself into a state of apathy; rejecting the instinctive yearning for feeling and human contact. In a way, they became almost robotic; programmed, mechanical. Damaging, if nothing else—but it was the ninja way. In such a ruthless world, you did what you needed to survive.

She accepted it, of course. That was her way of life, and as mentally unhealthy as it was, it was the life she chose to embrace. But… there were times—like this, for example—when she couldn't help but wonder…

_Why?_

Why did they have to live this way? Why did their very _existence_ rely on the numbing of every human emotion except possibly determination and anger? It wasn't-- But life wasn't fair, was it? _No, it isn't_. They weren't allowed to just sit around and spend time with someone they cared about. They weren't allowed to "make love." (She couldn't help but snort, earning another dark look from her partner. She had always hated the term before, and look where she was now.) They weren't _supposed_ to love, weren't supposed to live. It was their sacrifice, so others could have the life that they could not.

_It isn't fair_.

He knew she was distracted. Even as their bodies moved against each other in jerky rhythm, through the sweat and the pants and the moans, her mind was very clearly elsewhere. He pretended to ignore it. She always had had a bad habit of thinking too hard. But they knew each other better than that. Years of training together and being teammates (being _friends_), had provided them with a bond that allowed them to see exactly what was inside the other's head. Metaphorically, of course.

What they were doing was not out of love. Stress, need of an outlet, weakness. (That, and they were both really really horny.) The link between them was strong enough for them to allow such act—and even though they weren't openly revealing any personal feeling, she _knew_ there was something underneath. There had to be, for neither of them would engage in something with this magnitude of closeness otherwise. It wasn't safe to become attached, they were both painfully aware. If it weren't for whatever they felt for each other, this wouldn't be happening. They wouldn't permit themselves to hurt each other in this way.)

It was fantastically masochistic, she thought. They both wanted this—much more than it, probably, and even as they resigned themselves to every urge, they still held back—still refused to cross that one line that remained between them, barrier-like in its entirety.

Maybe that was why as soon as he regained his strength and began to lift himself off of her, preparing to leave—as she knew he would—she reached out, grabbing his arm to halt him. Her eyes didn't meet his inquisitive icy gaze, instead drawing to the side to fixate upon the pattern of the wrinkles in the sheets. She cleared her throat, fighting the urge to just tell him 'nevermind,' and tried to find her voice somewhere in the thick knot that was her throat. (She was not blushing, she was _not_ blushing, _shewasnotblushing_.) Somehow, in a tone that wasn't her own, the word '_stay_' crept out—barely above a whisper, but unmistakably audible.

_Please_.

She wasn't a girly girl. She was tough. She was practical and modern; she didn't have silly dreams, didn't believe in fairytales, didn't wish for a happy ending. But for some reason, right now, she didn't want to be practical. She just wanted to be a girl. A normal girl with a normal life and normal emotions. A normal girl who happy and very much in… love?

_Yeah. Love._

* * *

**A/N: **They are about fourteen/fifteen or so here, just fyi. I know, I know. Scandalous.

Holy freaking mother this thing was crap. Don't let me write late at night when I'm hurrying. You don't need a microscope to see the subtle differences in my writing from where my mood flipped. S'what happens when I don't write at one time and instead do it in clumps. Oh well. By the way; "They were not unversatile." I loves me some double negatives. Orwell would smite me. UNVERSATILE ISN'T EVEN A _WORD_. SUCK ON THAT, ORWELL. –guess who just read Politics and the English Language yaaaaay-

Erm. So right. Here's hoping I'll stop being a lazy suck and write more? And see if I can get something innocent up for once. Yeah… That's something to strive for. --Judo


End file.
